


Moments in Love

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [35]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Confessions, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, and some emotional shit too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: Now that Booster is back in the Justice League, there's no end to the opportunities for love and intimacy, or so it feels.
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 16
Kudos: 47





	Moments in Love

Monday morning it begins in the aquamarine tiled bathroom of Booster’s apartment.

Ted closes his eyes, letting the rousing stream of water hit his face. He could marry this shower. The water pressure at the Embassy is a joke in comparison. After tough missions, the pressure in Ted’s shower will slow to a trickle as all his fellow League members jump into theirs, dividing the pathetic water pressure between them.

Or maybe not _all_ the other members, come to think of it. Ted has no idea if J’onn needs to shower regularly. Does he sweat, like the rest of them? Does he start to smell? J’onn has a very subtle smell to him, not unpleasant -- something organic, like the way flowers without distinct scents smell. Unobtrusive, alive.

Soon the Embassy won't even hold that subtle, unobtrusive smell anymore. The thought resurfaces every once in a while, making something prick in the back of Ted's mind. Thoughts joining other little pricks of guilt, reminders of a world that keeps changing without his input.

An indistinct voice, barely audible through the hiss of the shower, distracts him from his thoughts. He leans his head back, out of the stream. “What?”

“Got you a shampoo,” Booster tells him brightly through the glass door to the shower cabinet, his voice slightly muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth.

Ted glances at the shower caddie, full of bottles and creams he’s never even attempted to figure out the uses for. He usually only tracks down whichever are labeled ‘shampoo’ and ‘body wash’. “My own shampoo, huh? You sick of me using up all of yours?”

Booster chuckles. “No, it’s just we’ve got different hair. I figured I’d get you something that suited yours better.”

Ted snorts. “Shampoo is shampoo.”

“No, I don’t like how mine dries out your hair. And since you’re _allergic_ to using a good conditioner —”

Ted titters. “Look, I just shower to get clean, okay? I don’t need a — a beauty routine while I’m at it.”

“And I like the smell, okay?” There’s a sound of Booster spitting into the sink. “I thought the smell would suit you.”

“You’re saying I smell bad?”

“No!” Booster giggles. “Ted, at least try it before I have to defend myself, okay? I researched this one.”

“Okay, great, thank you,” Ted smirks, looking over the overstuffed shower caddie. “Which one is it?”

“It’s the one that says _Argan Restore._ Use a bunch, _really_ work it in there, and leave it in for four or five minutes.”

"Five whole minutes!" Ted feels too mischievous today to let this conversation lie. He picks up the honey-colored bottle and grins. “What, am I supposed to time it? You wanna bring me a newspaper or something to while away the time?"

"Teddy --"

"No wonder you spend so much time in the shower," Ted continues cheerily. "You gotta sit down and take a five minute break between every product? And you use, like, fifteen of them, so that's your day gone.”

There’s a burst of frustrated giggles from the other side of the shower cabinet door. “You don't have to sit down and wait. Just — do the rest of your shower routine! Clean the other parts you need to clean.”

“What part of me needs _five dedicated minutes_ to get clean?” 

“Ted —!” Booster groans, and it’s sharp enough that Ted wonders if he’s taken the teasing too far. The next moment, the frosted glass door to the shower slides abruptly open, and Booster — still in his T-shirt and pale blue pajama pants, stands there, looking at him like he’s trying not to laugh. He gestures at the bottle in Ted’s hand and when he speaks, it’s very, very quietly: “Just… Use the shampoo, Ted. Put it in your hair.”

“We have to be at the Embassy in forty minutes, you know,” Ted titters, mostly from the absurd intensity in Booster's voice and posture. “You’re gonna make us late.”

 _“You’re_ making us late!” Booster grins back at him, a little wildly. _“Use. The fucking. Shampoo.”_

Ted giggles -- The entire situation, not to mention Booster's weird energy, taking him by surprise. He ignores the flicker of self-consciousness standing naked in the shower with a clothed Booster regarding him from outside. “Yessir,” Ted shrugs, and squeezes a good helping of the cool, thick liquid into his hand, before starting to work it into his hair. It's smooth and viscous, and doesn't really lather up at all, just coats his curls in slick citrus-smelling oils. He already suspects it's the kind of shampoo where you can rinse and rinse and still it feels like you haven't washed it off.

Finally he glances back at Booster, whose hand is still resting on the edge of the sliding door to the shower, letting in colder air. “You’re going to stand guard right there the whole five minutes?”

Booster watches him for another few moments, lips pressed together in an odd smile, his gaze darting down Ted’s naked body. “No,” he murmurs at last, and steps into the shower, still dressed in his T-shirt and pants, closing the door behind him. 

Ted titters, surprised, as he feels a broad, soft hand trailing up his side and he turns fully towards Booster, who regards him with a low-lidded gaze, his hair and clothes getting soaked by the running water. 

“What’s this?” Ted asks softly, lowering his hands.

“Thought I'd help you fill those five minutes,” Booster murmurs, lowering his head to press a soft kiss to the corner of Ted’s mouth.

“And you didn’t have time to take off you clothes?”

“Well,” Booster grins, wrapping his arms around him. “Time was of the essence.”

* * *

Tuesday evening. Ted is hunched over the desk in his room, tapping his pencil against the wood of the desktop, trying to work out how best to construct the shoulder joint in the protective suit he’s designing. Turns out it isn't half as intuitive as he imagined. His own costume has been a complete trial-and-error project for years, and now he thinks he can design more wearables?

He’s been on an electric kick lately, that urge in him to wire things, conduct power to where he wants it. He’s still on the very rudimentary stage with this idea — a suit, or more of an armor, that can discharge electricity at will. With careful isolation, probably a helmet, and gauntlets and gloves, so the wearer would be completely contained within, he thinks he just might have something. He has no concept who it would be for — it would certainly be too bulky for him, or anyone else in the League. And he's not into becoming "the electricity hero" anyway. He'd have to change his name to Lightning Bug or something.

But the idea’s in him, and he can direct that creative energy for the time being, so he wants to get it all down on paper before he runs out of steam. If he can just figure out the shoulder joint. He wishes he had Dmitri here, or at least his Red Rocket suit. There are few things as enlightening in engineering than picking things apart-- as several of his poor mother's kitchen appliances would have been able to attest to.

There’s a short grunt behind him. Booster lying on his back in Ted’s bed, comfortable in jeans and a loose-fitting sweater, frowning in deep concentration at Ted’s Game Boy. 

There’s something Ted enjoys about this, about this way of being together. Of course he loves the other ways, the cuddling, the passion, the banter and movies and conversation. But for now they can just sit and be busy in each other’s company too. They have that luxury now. One of the delightful things about spending so much time together, now Booster’s part of the League again -- They don’t have to feel that ticking clock. They don’t have to hurry to have a nice time together before they need to part.

They can just sit here and share the air, the room, the energy. Ted working on his blueprints, Booster utterly enraptured by Tetris.

Ted hasn’t toyed with that Game Boy in at least a year. He splurged on it when they were split up, when he needed to unwind a restless mind and body late at night. Hours and hours and hours of slotting blocks into gaps. And then he and Booster made up and he… He found he didn’t crave that distraction anymore.

Booster, though, upon discovering the discarded toy, is maybe starting to get a little obsessed. 

Ted glances at him, at Booster’s frown of concentration, holding the gray console inches from his face. Thankfully the sound has been muted. “Have you started having dreams about it yet?”

Booster doesn’t move his eyes off the screen. “Dreams about what?”

“Blocks falling into place." He regards those long fingers pressing purple buttons. "It’s a real thing, you know. They call it the Tetris Effect. You spend so much time playing it the patterns sort of burn into your brain.”

“Mm, not that I know of,” Booster smirks, still not moving his gaze from the monochromatic screen. There’s a pause. “Have you had them? Tetris dreams?”

“A few times.” Ted stretches in his seat. “But only when I was playing for hours every day.”

“Bet it made you even better at the game,” Booster murmurs, then hisses softly in frustration. “It's like even your subconscious is practicing. I’m still not anywhere close to your high score.”

Ted turns back to his sketch and that infuriating shoulder joint. “You’ll get there.”

“The high score or the dreams?”

“Yes.”

* * *

Early, Thursday morning. Ted chews his scrambled eggs on toast, his body still slow and groggy from sleep. Bea, seated next to him demolishing a grape fruit, stretches with a nasal little squeak and continues eating.

“Mm,” she murmurs, gently knocking her shoulder into his. “You smell good, you know that?”

“Oh,” he smiles. “Thank you. Got a new shampoo.”

Across the table Guy yawns.

"You guys ready for today?" Tora beams at them. Tora beams at any hour of the day. "I've never been to Nicaragua."

“Any idea what kind of weather you dress for there?” Ted wonders, reaching for the salt.

“Like you have a a warm-weather version of your costume or something?” Bea wipes juice off her lips. “Just the shorts and boots and cowl, and that’s you ready?”

Ted giggles. “Well, you’re the one saving the day in a crop top, figured the rest of us should start showing some skin.”

“Wouldn’t be safe,” Guy interjects with a sedate grin, leaning his elbows on the table. “I start doing heroics without a shirt, and every street with a woman on it would become a slip-n-slide.”

“Classy.” A little chunk of scrambled eggs fall off Ted's toast and drops to the plate with a wet little noise.

“Hey, can’t fault me for speaking the truth.”

“Good morning, Booster,” Tora chirps at the tall silhouette that’s appeared in the kitchen entrance.

Booster yawns into the crook of his elbow. “Mornin’, gang.” He drops into the empty chair next to Guy. His tank is still slightly askew after waking up, but his hair has already been smoothed down by his fingers, probably on the way down the stairs.

He looks his usual, breath-taking self. Even with the meager amounts of sleep they've been catching lately.

“You know, I still get so happy every time I see you come down in the morning,” Tora tells Booster. “It makes everything feel like it should be.”

Booster flashes her a smile, and Tora beams even brighter. It’s always like that, when Booster directs one of those smiles at you, it feels so genuine and personal, you can tell people get that happy little rush from it. The universal little burst of joy of making Booster happy, pleasing him. Ted receives that smile more often than many others, and it never stops giving him that kick, that warm rush of happiness.

Bea sniffs, playing with her spoon, letting it dangle between her fingers like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. “Speaking of things inside and outside the status quo, do we know when we lose J’onn?”

The air in the Embassy kitchen seems to change. The energy gone. 

“Any day now, isn't it?” Guy mutters, then adds, more as an afterthought: “Then we’re finally rid of the Jolly Green Giant, I guess.”

There's that strange, naked silence again.

"Well, it'll be different, that's for sure," Bea mutters.

Silently Tora gets out of her seat and passes leisurely in front of the counter, behind Booster and Guy.

"Any more Cheerios?" Guy asks.

"Think I saw a box under the sink the other day," Bea murmurs. "Weirdly enough."

"No, those were my secret Cheerios. We have any group Cheerios?"

Out of the corner of his eye Ted sees an unexpected movement — Tora's hand swiftly flicking up, touching Booster’s hair and then back down to her side in another moment. No pause in her path to the back of the kitchen, no turning her head to look at her odd gesture. So smoothly and quickly no one but Ted seems to have noticed the brief moment of contact. Not even Booster seems to react.

Only when she leans quietly over the trashcan and opens her hand, does he see it: A white piece of goose down.

* * *

Ted makes a noise. Interlocking lames, like plate armor, _that's_ what a protected shoulder joint looks like. God, they had that one figured out in the Middle Ages, and he’s sitting here like he’s trying to reinvent the wheel. He chews his pencil, regarding his sketch. He really ought to spend more time studying history, the technologies of the past. Maybe Booster could help him with that.

Ted is rapidly running out of room on the sheet of paper when Booster whispers: _“Oh shit.”_ Such an abrupt hiss it actually makes Ted jump slightly in his seat.

“What?” Ted glances over his shoulder at Booster who’s drawn his legs up in bed, staring wide-eyed at the little screen.

“I did it!”

“Did what?”

Booster licks his lips, restless with excitement. “I beat your high score.”

“What?” Ted smirks in disbelief. “Which one?”

Booster casts a quick glance his way, then presses more buttons. “Your _high score._ Your best run.”

Ted swivels in his chair, frowning. “No way. You can’t have.”

“No, I mean it. Top score. I’m at the top of the board, number one.”

“No, you —” Ted turns fully towards him and reaches out his hand, palm turned up, so Booster can hand the Game Boy to him, but he doesn’t move. “You might have beat _one_ of my scores, but you don’t go from not on the scoreboard at all to beating my best in one run. No way.”

“I did,” Booster grins, pressing the plastic buttons. “Guess I’m a natural.”

Ted snorts. “Show me.”

“Can’t,” Booster murmurs innocently without looking up. “I’m playing another round.”

Ted stands up and approaches the foot of the bed. “No, you need to show me.”

A giggle escapes Booster, which more or less gives him away... Doesn't it? “What, you don’t believe me?”

“It’s not a matter of belief, it's just... Objectively unlikely, so I want some proof.” Ted grins and pulls at Booster’s ankle, prompting Booster to giggle more and squirm away. “Just give it here!”

Booster regards him with a hurt expression, trying to pout except he can't coax his face to stop smiling. “I'm a member of the Justice League! You really think _heroes_ lie?”

Ted laughs. "That's what I'm trying to find out." Another moment, and Ted's sprung forward out of his seat, hand outstretched to snatch the Game Boy out of Booster’s hand, but Booster is quick, twisting at the same moment, laughing, curling up on his side. He presses the gray rectangle to his chest possessively, out of Ted’s reach, and Ted shuffles forward, straddling his thighs.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Booster giggles, twisting further, ending up halfway on his stomach as Ted tries to grab his arms, giggling too. "You can't! No!"

It's like trying to hold down a very buff, very tall eel. Ted opts for a more stable, full body maneuver, leaning over him and slipping an arm under Booster’s chin in something like a headlock. He yelps and laughs when Booster tries to buck him off, but squeezes his knees against Booster’s waist and manages to hold on, his free arm fighting to overpower Booster's. They laugh and grunt and laugh some more, wrestling on Ted’s narrow bed.

Then they both freeze at the sound of loud thumping against the wall on the left.

“Hey, idiots! Grownups are trying to sleep!” It’s Bea, sounding more than a little exhausted.

Booster giggles, gasping for breath, and when Ted grins and tries to shush him, Booster manages to get quiet for a second or so — before a loud snort forces its way out of his nose. Glancing to the window, Ted realizes the dim dusk outside has given way to black night.

“Sorry!” Ted raises his voice, trying not to laugh. “Sorry, we’re done!”

They lie like that on the bed for a few moments in silence, Booster flat on his stomach in a headlock, one hand gripping Ted’s wrist, his other holding the Game Boy with an extended arm towards the center of the room. Both breathing heavy, both breaking into occasional giggles. 

“So who won?” Booster murmurs, not making any sign to move.

“Well, that remains to be seen,” Ted mutters darkly into his ear, and in the next moment his free hand shoots forward, grabbing the wrist of Booster's hand with the Game Boy in it. It takes some doing, but finally he manages to twist Booster's arm behind his back, below him, earning another grunt and Booster kicking his legs ineffectually behind him. Ted shushes him again with a grin, bending Booster’s arm further up, trying to force him to release the game, but just then Booster’s other hand shoots up and behind, scrabbling for a moment trying to get a grip on Ted’s hair and failing, before hooking into the collar of Ted’s sweatshirt and pulling, hard, upwards towards himself and the bed. 

“Ah! Ah, you’re gonna tear it!” Ted hisses, feeling the edge of the fabric digging uncomfortably into the neck.

“So let me go,” Booster pants, then makes a little _twhu!_ sound trying to get rid of the piece of goose down that's gotten stuck to his lip. Ted reminds himself once again he's overdue for a new pillow, one that doesn't shed like crazy.

Ted eases his headlock for a moment to swipe a fingertip against Booster's bottom lip, wiping away the eggshell-colored down. “Let go of my Game Boy.”

There’s a pause, and then Booster giggles again. “Make me.”

Ted makes a noise. “That’s what I’m _trying_ to do, you fucking —”

“Shh.”

Ted grins to himself, out of breath, pondering his next move. He’s lying against Booster's back, one arm around Booster’s neck, the other busy holding him by the wrist. He glances down at Booster’s hand, and the compact console in it. Slowly, gingerly, he glides out of the choke, loosening the headlock, and he can see how Booster’s grip tightens on the plastic.

But he doesn’t go for the toy. He moves his hand towards Booster’s shoulder, trailing merciless fingers towards the armpit of his raised arm, the one gripping Ted’s sweater.

Booster jolts, realizing. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m making you, you wanted me to make you.” 

The moment Ted tickles Booster, Booster whines and giggles and squirms, letting go of Ted’s shirt to squeeze his arm against his side, guarding against Ted’s fingers. Ted laughs and forces his hand through, fluttering his fingertips.

“Okay, stop! No! I give!” Booster squeaks in between giggles. He spreads the fingers of his captured arm, letting go of the Game Boy, which slides gently, anticlimactically, down his side and comes to a rest against the mattress. “Okay? Stop. _Sto-hop,_ no!”

Ted ceases the tickling, like the noble, upstanding warrior he is. They lie still for a moment, Booster panting with effort and giggling weakly against the pillow, still locked in Ted’s grip. Ted’s body feels warm and light and tingly with triumph, and he ponders for a moment exactly what he should say to rub in this win. But then an errant little thought strays into his mind. Because he doesn’t care about Tetris. He doesn’t care about his high score at all.

What he does care about is this beautiful person lying under him in his bed, so enticingly compliant, so wonderfully defeated. Ted slides his hand around Booster’s torso, who jolts and giggles thinly.

“No!” Booster whines with a grin. “Ted, I can’t take any more. No, no, no, no —”

Only when Ted’s hand slides down, smooth against the front of Booster’s jeans, the enticing shape of him filling his hand, does Booster untense his shoulders, a surprised little exhale against the pillow.

“No?” Ted asks softly into Booster’s ear, pausing his hand.

Booster rolls his hips under him, his arm still twisted behind his back in Ted's grip. “Ah. No, yes. I mean yes.” He lets out a soft giggle, still out of breath. “Definitely yes. Please.”

There's that little cascade of heat rising through Ted's body. He never thought this would become one of his favorite little interactions -- asking for consent and Booster directly, enthusiastically granting it. All the more enthusiastic because it’s Ted who wants to go there, who allows himself that vulnerability of being the one who asks.

Ted knows he has so many months of hesitation to make up for.

* * *

There are few people who manage to look _better_ when they’re absolutely drenched. Most people just look comical and miserable, but Booster? Booster looks breath-taking wet. The way his hair gets smoothed down and heavy, showing even clearer the natural range of hues in his blond hair, the slightly darker streaks scattered sparingly throughout, the subtly lighter bangs from the sun bleaching his uncovered hair on countless missions.

And the way water moves down his body. God, the fascinating little pathways it makes as it flows down, curving around muscles, gathering in the subtle grooves between them, down, down, caressing every inch of him.

Booster winds his arm around Ted, kissing him deep with a muffled groan. Booster’s wet clothes feel strange against Ted’s naked body, the textures unfamiliar when the clothes aren’t on him. Angling his head, kissing back, he lets his hands wander, gliding his fingers down the sides of Booster’s torso over the soaked T-shirt, then curving his hands to the front so his thumbs almost meet, gliding down Booster’s stomach.

Booster offers Ted a low-lidded smile. “I can take this off.”

“No, I —” Ted licks his lips, allowing himself to look down to really take in the visuals. “I think I like it." Booster’s pale T-shirt almost see-through in the spray of the showerhead, hugging his body, showing off that carefully maintained taper, that subtle hint of his tan skin underneath. And the pajama pants, heavy and revealing now that they’re soaked through, hanging off his hips and thighs, an unashamed display of the curve and size of Booster’s growing erection through the fabric. “Like, _really_ like it. You look like — God, you’re really fucking hot right now.”

Booster grins wider, biting his lip. “I like your outfit a lot more,” he murmurs, kissing Ted again and stooping slightly down to let both hands glide down Ted’s hips. Then, without hesitation, he drops down on his knees, pressing a few heated kisses below Ted’s navel before eagerly wrapping his mouth around Ted’s hardening cock.

“Oh,” Ted squeaks, angling his head back. “Oh, okay.”

Booster chuckles, his mouth full, as he curls his tongue and grasps Ted’s hips tighter. Out of habit, Ted holds his breath for a moment, carefully ascertaining that they're currently in Booster's apartment, hidden away and solitary. They don't have to worry about noise. He releases the held breath just as Booster flutters his tongue, and it comes out like a moan. Booster whimpers appreciatively in reply, his hands squeezing Ted tighter.

It's more than technique, it's Booster's enthusiasm, how attentive he is to Ted’s tells and voice, his body, always ready to switch things around or ask if he isn’t getting the response he’s hoping for. It’s how everything in Booster’s posture, his movements, his noises, shows how much he absolutely adores doing this. It makes Ted imagine he could easily become a very selfish lover with a partner as enthusiastically generous as Booster is in bed (or in the shower). But then again, it’s too much fun paying back in full, too. It’s a source of satisfaction all on it’s own, making Booster feel good.

Ted looks down at him, at Booster’s closed eyes, his long eyelashes, his soft wet lips and his cheekbones and his wet wonderful hair and the rivulets of water from the shower cascading down between his shoulder blades, and he shivers from the pleasure of it, the sweet joy of it. Imagine being this lucky. Imagine being allowed this perfect point of view, this intense toe-curling sensation on a Monday morning. Six years ago his Monday morning point of view would be a dry bagel and the Financial Times in his spacious but empty Chicago apartment.

He pushes the memory away, instead deciding to make this particular Monday morning just a little more fun. He winds his fingers through Booster’s hair, and already Booster shifts subtly, an excited exhale through his nose. Then Ted tugs and holds the tension in Booster’s hair, and the effect is immediate — Booster’s muffled moan, the subtle tremor in his hands as they hold Ted’s hips. He opens his eyes and looks up at Ted with an adoring, pleading gaze.

It’s only fair Booster should have a wonderful Monday morning too.

* * *

It takes a bit of focus and care, jumping between their two worlds. Booster's apartment, secluded and alone but always necessitating excuses and with the subtle stress of being just a little bit too far away if there's an emergency or call to action. And then their rooms at the Embassy, where they have to mind every noise, but where they still feel a special kind of ease, a particular sense of home.

In these rooms they often have to indicate in silence. And sometimes there’s excitement in that too, Ted concedes. Sometimes that adds a little something.

He feels Booster’s firmness against his hand, the hungry way Booster grinds against it, but he can also hear the soft, frustrated hitch in his voice, feel the way Booster turns his head and rolls his shoulders back, indicating some minor discomfort, so Ted lets go and silently sits back. Booster turns and grins at him, flopping back down with his back against the mattress. In the next moment he’s grabbed hold of Ted’s shoulders with both hands and pulled him gently down on top of himself again, raising his head to kiss Ted, slow and sweet and tender.

Okay. The mood is gentler tonight. 

There’s no disappointment in Ted, just acknowledgement and renewed excitement as he recalibrates mentally. He loves this just as much, if not more. The tenderness in Booster’s kisses, the slow, mindful way his warm hands glide over Ted’s shirt. 

Ted raises his hand to pull his fingers through Booster’s soft hair as they kiss, so silky smooth under his fingers, before trailing his fingers down Booster’s cheek, his jaw, his throat. Booster grins happily against his lips, cupping Ted’s face in his hands, pushing gently, just enough for their lips to separate, and when Ted opens his eyes he sees Booster’s soft blue eyes gazing back at him, studying him like Booster has to make sure he’s real, that this is really happening. It makes something warm and overwhelming tumble in Ted’s chest when Booster looks at him like that, and all he can do is smile — a smile that ought to be suave and handsome and self-assured, but which he’s certain is the goofiest smile anyone on earth has ever made, because how is it possible? How is it possible to be so much in love it feels like something has permanently changed in your brain, in your body?

Because every day he can spend together with Booster feels too incredible, too big and crazy and overwhelming, for it not to alter him in some drastic, forever way. And Ted doesn’t know how it might have changed him, but if it’s for the worse it’s still worth it, and if it is for the better (which feels more likely) he’s so intensely grateful for it.

Booster looks at him like that and he smiles so wide it’s like being warmed by the sun, it’s like some life-giving blessing, and Ted can’t stop himself from leaning down to kiss him again — slow and warm and loving, a clumsy insufficient offer in return for a look and a smile like that. Booster wraps his arms around him, his legs around him, squeezing him close like he wants their two bodies to exist in exactly the same space. 

They kiss, and Ted lets a gentle hand follow the outside curve of Booster’s torso, over the loose-fitting soft sweater he has on. Booster squirms happily under him, and when Ted’s hand slips under that sweater, feeling the heat of Booster’s smooth skin, Booster groans appreciatively.

Ted’s pauses his hand, his kissing. Careful. Can’t put on music to drown out the sighs and moans this late at night.

Booster opens his eyes and flashes a self-conscious grin. _Sorry,_ he mouths.

Ted smiles back and kisses him again, trailing his thumb along the underside of Booster’s stomach, the skin warm and smooth under his fingers. Beautiful. He’s so beautiful. Then he subtly pushes the very edges of his fingertips under the waistband of those jeans, pausing imperceptibly, just long enough for Booster to exhale and nod in perfect silence against his lips. _Yes._

Yes. So Ted shushes Booster gently in advance, then lets his hand slide down inside Booster's jeans and grasps him fully.

* * *

“Actually, uh —” Ted breathes, a small hitch in his voice as Booster dips his head and groans around his cock. “Actually I feel kinda like…” Another pause, trying to gather his thoughts as the water from the shower beats against his shoulders. He pulls Booster’s head back by his hair. “Booster.”

“Mm?” Booster sits back on his heels, tilting his head back to offer a lazy smile up at Ted, his eyes unfocused and content.

Ted wipes his forehead, trying to stop some of the shampoo from running into his eyes. “I kinda think I’m going to explode if I can’t have you up here to kiss you.”

Booster giggles and tilts his head gently away from Ted’s hand, obviously enjoying the pull in his hair. "Okay." His palm glides up the outside of Ted’s thigh before he gently rakes his fingers down again. “So _tell_ me.”

Ted chuckles, a little self-conscious, feeling less than commandeering naked and with shampoo in his hair. But Booster looks up at him with such unabashed delight, and this continues to be a terrific start of the week, so the least Ted can do is play along. _“Booster,”_ he tells him as curtly as he can, tugging at his hair. “Get up. Now.”

A short groan escapes through Booster’s closed lips as he stands up, following the pull in his hair, and once on his feet, he stands there, breathing deep, looking at Ted with expectant eyes. He looks so breathtaking and unashamed and perfect in his soaked-through clothes.

“Let me look at you,” Ted tells him, knowing it’s not so much an order, but there’s a slight flush in Booster’s face all the same, excited just hearing that Ted enjoys the sight of him like this. Then, as an added little flourish, Ted moves his hand to the back of Booster’s head and pulls abruptly, forcing Booster’s head back, and that sharp little moan lets him know that’s just the kind of surprise Booster enjoys a lot.

“Oh! Fuck. Ted,” he gasps, the twitch of his cock so visible in the heaviness of his wet pajama pants.

Ted holds him like that, letting his other hand trail up the inside of Booster’s thigh, Booster’s hips twitching involuntarily forward as he does so. “You’re so fucking hard,” Ted tells him in a low voice, thinking, not for the first time, that he might not be the world champion at dirty talk, but saying things that are demonstrably true works just as well on Booster.

“Ah. God, _”_ Booster whimpers, blinking at the ceiling, his breathing even heavier now.

And just like that, Ted’s run out of steam. Because all he really wants right now is to kiss him, cuddle up close to him, appreciate him -- in short, all the kinds of things that don't fit into this little power play. God, being bossy with Booster is extremely rewarding just from how out-of-his-mind excited he can make this tall, beautiful Adonis that for some reason keep enjoying being in R-rated situations with him… But it’s a surprising amount of work. It takes a special kind of creativity Ted is still trying to develop.

Booster exhales, opening his eyes when he feels the grip in his hair loosening. He's still breathing heavy as he tilts his head down again, giving Ted a gently quizzical look. 

“Okay so --” Ted murmurs, trying to hide what a complete klutz he feels. “So, uh, what would you like for the next step? Sorry," he adds quickly, because it can hardly be a fantasy of Booster's to give constant directions on how to be manhandled. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through his own hair, and the slickness on his fingers reminds him of the original task at hand. “Shit, it’s been five minutes by now, right?”

The next moment, Booster’s arms have wrapped around him, pulling him towards that gorgeous clothed body. “No, absolutely not,” Booster murmurs, kissing him with a grin. “We’re not even _close_ to five minutes.”

“No?” Ted asks with a self-conscious smile, following Booster’s lead as Booster takes another step back, leaning against the aquamarine tiles. “You’re sure this shampoo isn’t going to fry my hair if it stays in too long?”

“No, no, the longer the better,” Booster murmurs happily, pulling harder at Ted now, humming contentedly at being pressed between Ted and the wall.

“You’re sure?” Ted asks softly, subtly angling his head in the exact way that always makes Booster immediately bend his knees slightly, so Ted can have perfect access to his neck.

“Mm-hmm,” Booster breathes as Ted trails kisses from his collarbone up his neck. “All it’ll do is — _Ah._ Program my brain into giving me a hard-on every time I smell citrus.”

Ted grins, letting his hands trail down Booster torso, pausing at his waist, pushing him gently against the wall, holding him in place. “Very Pavlovian. I like it.”

Booster arches against the wall. “Like the cake?”

“No, that’s a Pavlova. I’m talking about Pavlov, he had these—” Ted stops with a sigh. “You know what, I’ll explain later.”

Booster looks at him with such perfect, mischievous happiness and when Ted leans against him, pressing right up against that perfect body, kissing him, Booster groans lazily into his mouth. Then abruptly Booster turns his head and becomes very preoccupied looking through the shower caddie.

Ted looks at him. “Something you need?”

“Just something to use.” He raises his eyebrows in satisfaction. “Ah, like this one.” He pulls a dark blue bottle out of the pile, and Ted recognizes it as a body gel -- touting pH neutrality, whatever that’s good for in the few seconds it's in contact with skin before getting washed off. Booster squeezes a fair amount into his hand.

“To use for what?”

Booster places the bottle back, grinning secretively at Ted before pulling him close again. “For this,” he murmurs, kissing Ted and slipping his arm down between their bodies, curling his soap-slick hand around Ted's cock.

* * *

Ted pushes Booster’s soft sweater up and continues trailing a line of kisses down his stomach, warm skin against his lips. There’s an almost inaudible little grunt of appreciation from Booster, who arches his back slightly to meet Ted's mouth. Ted glances up to see Booster blinking at the ceiling, lips pressed together to stop from making any sound. 

That's right. Quiet.

Quiet.

Ted grins against Booster’s skin, the curves and warmth of him, the subtle trail of hair so fine and light below his navel that it looks all but invisible unless you’re right up close like this. Ted sits halfway up and undoes the last few buttons in Booster’s jeans, earning a soft, hungry exhale above him.

Another tug, and Booster’s jeans are around his thighs. The sight of his ever-impressive erection filling out those light purple Y-fronts giving Ted an odd little glow of pride, almost of relief -- this honest, physiological proof that tells Ted that Booster still enjoys this, enjoys him. He’d love to tease him, caress him, elongate this moment to an almost intolerable degree, just because Booster is so much fun when he's half out of his mind with unabashed horniness. The way he’ll plead and whimper and tremble, his vocabulary filthier than ever as he rocks his hips against Ted in excited desperation.

But this is the Embassy, and after they all but announced to the house that they’re in Ted’s room together from their earlier wrestling and laughing, they have to be extra careful. There’s a little bubble of anxiety in Ted rising to the surface, because he’s being careless again. He shouldn’t have initiated after they made all that noise, they should have just said goodnight and Booster should have gone to his own room, the way friends would part. If they had any sense at all, they should stop this immediately. Be careful and frustrated just for tonight, and then pick this up later when they find another opportunity.

But look at him.

Booster’s perfect, warm, excited body under him, the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Booster's fingers wound through his own hair in subtle impatience, staring unfocused at the ceiling with blue eyes fringed by golden eyelashes. Has anybody ever been as cute and hot and beautiful as Booster is right at this moment? How can he throw him out of his room like this? How could anyone?

So he won't tease. No need to make it harder for them to keep quiet. No teasing, which means he'll be... Direct. To the point. Ted pulls gently at the waistband of Booster’s underwear, pulling it down, freeing his cock, and just that makes Booster roll his hips, an unabashed, tight little wave of a motion, starving for more stimulation. Ted answers the silent plea by grasping the base of his cock, the girth of it so full in his palm, and then he scoots a little further down, wets his lips, and closes them around the head.

Booster makes a strangled noise right at the back of his throat, his breathing so labored and intense there’s an audible hiss through his nose with every exhale. Trying to keep quiet, trying to keep still. Finally he reaches out and grasps Ted's pillow, hugging it to his face with both arms wound around it, and Ted hears a muffled, drawn-out groan.

Irresistible. 

Ted makes his tongue broad and soft, taking in a little more of Booster into his mouth. Definitely still no expert at this, but thankfully Booster continues to be so immediate and obvious in his reactions when there’s something he likes, Ted has slowly but surely built up his own little collection of methods. He bobs his head mindfully, massaging with his tongue in short upwards strokes as he moves up and down, steadily, over and over — that one usually gets Booster building very fast. And Booster, unable to keep completely still, moves his hips subtly with each dip of Ted's head, a rhythmic tightening and easing of the muscles in his legs, in his core. Whimpering almost inaudibly against the pillow.

What does it say about Ted that... He really does enjoy this? He returns to his little internal debate once again. It isn’t as thought-consuming as it used to be, not the wave of shame he used to feel in the beginning. It’s just… A little pinprick of anxiety now, this way of being with Booster. It’s so active, so obvious and intentional, so... Entirely non-heterosexual, without even the tiniest crumb of plausible deniability. But his argument against himself remains the same: It’s Booster. It’s because he loves Booster, and he loves making Booster feel good, and, well -- some ways of making Booster feel good are surprisingly enjoyable in their own right.

Ted enjoys it too. He does. Like he enjoys everything he and Booster do together, because it involves Booster, and his body and his voice and his taste and the way he moves and breathes and sighs and loves it with every atom of his being.

They both enjoy this, and it harms no one. So why do those pin-pricks of shame still bother him?

* * *

Water drips down from Booster's hair, runs down the tip of his nose. He kisses the corner of Ted's mouth again. “See?" He murmurs. "Lube makes everything better.”

"Well, you're -- ah --" Ted closes his eyes, lost in that sharp, intense pleasure of Booster's hand. "You're kinda -- kinda a big part of it. It's not just the lube." A tight little moan escapes Ted as his head drops down and he rests his tensed forehead against Booster’s shoulder. It’s so good, that firm, slick grip, the warmth of Booster’s palm, the unceasing, direct motion over and over and over.

Booster groans softly into his ear, and from the noise you'd think he was the one getting lovingly jerked off in a steamy shower. Something so precious about Booster, that even when it's not him on the receiving end, he acts like he's enjoying it even more than Ted. Even when he's doing all the work. 

Ted scrunches his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m, mmm. — Sorry. I’m sorry.”

There's a soft sensation of Booster’s lips pressing a kiss to the side of Ted’s neck. “What’re you sorry for?”

Ted lifts his head again, looking at Booster with an unfocused gaze, a warm wave of pleasure flowing through his body with every stroke. “I -- I dropped the ball there. Being bossy, I mean. Ah.” Shit, it’s so good he feels like he’ll melt right into the floor. Flow down the drain. “You want me to pull your hair or something?”

Booster titters softly. “You don’t have to right at this moment, no.”

“Look, I’m gonna get better at it.” Ted exhales through pursed lips, closing his eyes. “I promise.”

“You’re plenty good at it as it is." Booster smiles and lightly brushes his cheek against Ted's, slow, like a cat. "You know I get a kick out of whatever you do.”

“I know, I’m just, just saying I want to follow through on it more,” Ted murmurs, tilting his head back again. “You know? I mean, I… I run out of steam on that stuff, I don’t know how far to take it or when you —”

A burst of motion, in one moment Booster has twisted around him, turning Ted by the shoulder, switching their positions. Ted feels the relative chill of the ceramic tiles smack against his back, feels Booster's free hand push against his chest, and he's too taken by surprise to speak.

Booster exhales with a hungry smile and leans against him, lightly pressing his forehead to Ted's, nose to nose. “Can you shut up and just enjoy this?" he whispers, mischief and frustration in his voice at once. "I’m trying to jerk you off here.”

Ted regards him, surprised, through low-lidded eyes, half amused, half ashamed. “Yes," he replies, breathless. "Yes, it’s — You’re so fucking good at this.”

The subtle brush of Booster's lips against Ted's are even more exciting than a kiss would be. "Move your hips," Booster tells him softly, more a plea than a command.

Ted kisses that long, elegant neck and obeys, thrusting lightly forward with every stroke, into Booster's grip. “Oh. Shit. What do you want me to do for you?” he murmurs against the tan, water-slick skin.

“Nothing,” Booster grins, pulling back, gazing down to admire Ted's body, the motion against his hand. After that mishap with the weird space dust, Booster has become very appreciative of Ted moving like this, in whatever constellation their bodies might find themselves in. “Nothing right now, I just —” He bites his lip. “I just really wanna make you come. _”_

Ted leans the back of his head against the cool tiles, frowning with closed eyes, his hips moving on its own into that electric grip. "Yeah," he breathes, a chuckle sneaking into his voice. "Any minute now, trust me."

"Good." There's genuine pride in Booster's voice. "Mmm. _Ted..."_

That’s incredible, too. That there exists anyone in this universe that can say a name like _Ted_ in a sexy way. That can make Ted sigh in hungry, desperate appreciation because when Booster groans or moans or sighs his name, it’s so entirely directed at him. It’s so present, it shields them even more from the world outside, it becomes just the two of them in existence.

* * *

He’s so beautiful. Every inch of him, every part of him perfect. Perfect when he trembles and stretches under Ted’s body; Perfect when he pushes the pillow he’s been muffling himself with away, swiftly and absentmindedly wiping more goose down from his face; Perfect when one of those strong hands shoots forward and those long fingers thread appreciatively through Ted’s hair. Not to pull or grab or force anything, just gently, gently brushing through Ted’s short curls, playing with it, running his fingers through it.

Booster’s cock is hot and hard and full in Ted’s mouth, something so real and undeniable and direct, Booster enjoying this, Booster enjoying Ted doing this to him, and even with those pinpricks of shame, Ted knows that he enjoys this too. So, so much. Enjoys the heat in his mouth, the salty firmness against his tongue. Booster’s own perfect undisguised delight at Ted's initiative and eager effort.

There’s a choked gasp from Booster, trying so hard to be quiet, and the sound alone tells Ted that Booster is close, that if they’d been in Booster’s apartment this is when he’d groan Ted’s name, tell him so directly, unashamed, that he’s close, that he’s about to come. Just the association, the sweet habit of it, makes Ted feel happy and warm. He pushes his hand up, palm pressing against the naked skin of Booster’s stomach, just wanting that heat, that skin, that motion against his fingers. Booster exhales shakily through his nose, his free hand finding Ted’s, squeezing it in uncoordinated appreciation, his fingers tensing, his body tensing and growing tighter, closer and closer.

The moment all the more intense, the intimacy all the more intimate, because they have to contain these overwhelming sensations between the two of them. Because they have to enjoy it all in utter, shared silence.

* * *

The water hitting Booster’s broad back disperses it into a tickling spray of water droplets against Ted’s face. He clings to Booster, his body burning and growing hotter every time Booster’s hand smoothly moves up the length of his cock and down again. Booster’s other hand is wound through Ted’s hair as he stoops down and kisses Ted’s neck, tongue even hotter than the water from the shower. They're standing so close, close enough that Booster’s soaked clothes cling to them both, the only thing separating their bodies.

“Oh. Teddy. Babe,” Booster pants into his ear. “Feels good?”

“Uh huh,” is all Ted manages to breathe back. His mind feels like it’s been jettisoned, all that’s left is a body. He can’t think, he can’t speak, he’s only sensation. Only pleasure and an animal need to be closer, wanting to melt into the wonder of a person doing this to him.

Booster pulls back to regard him, whipping his head back to get his wet bangs out of his eyes, keeping the pace of his hand steady. He grins and whispers, “Are you close?”

Tightness growing tighter, like pushing against a barrier right at the edge of the cliff, trying to break through, waiting for the fall and the surrender. Ted can’t even answer affirmatively to Booster's question, because once he opens his mouth all that comes out is a short, sharp groan.

“Love when you show off that well-educated vocabulary of yours,” Booster teases, then his heated kisses migrate from Ted’s chin to his jaw to his cheek. Booster’s hand relentless and hot and sexy and completely wonderful, and his lips sweet and hungry and eager. Perfect. Perfect. Everything about Booster is mind-blowing, overwhelming and sweet and sexy. Ted realizes he needs to tell him that more often. Tell him continually, whenever his mind isn't dissolving with intense, building pleasure. He needs to tell Booster how being together with him like this is more than any living creature can handle, that even a percentage of this should be enough to push Ted into complete and joyful insanity.

“Boos —!” Ted hisses, his fingers spasming against Booster’s skin, digging into it. He’s pushing through, he’s tumbling over the edge and every sensation peaks, flows into each other, a great sharp chaos of heat and pleasure and burning happiness.

* * *

An almost inaudible whimper, more breath than voice, and then in the next moment the muscles under Ted’s palm jolts and shortens, Booster curling around him, trembling in sweet, secret silence, and the first spurt of heat against Ted’s tongue makes him sigh through his nose in proud satisfaction.

He doesn’t even have to look to know Booster is at his most beautiful right at this moment, the surrender and pleasure in his face record-breaking, historical, more radiant than anyone’s ever looked at any point in time. Either closed or open eyes, lips parted or pressed together or bitten into, they’re all equally perfect, the very peak of human beauty. 

“Ted —” Booster chokes out softly, body still tensed and tight around him, hips that are trying not to thrust with every spasm.

And Ted moves gently, lips closed around all that heat, all that pleasure, trying to prolong, trying to coax everything on a little longer. Not only for Booster’s sake, but for his own, for that odd burning pride he feels at this moment, every time. That he did it, that he succeeded so unquestionably in what he tried to do. That Booster truly enjoyed it.

“Ted, hahh—” Booster gasps, indistinct but louder, finally making Ted open his eyes, see Booster’s face far above him, beautiful, eyes closed, present and helpless and pure. " _Ted._ Oh, _fuck_ \--!”

Ted stirs, swallowing, sitting back. He gently moves his hand, trailing his fingers and palm against the warm skin of Booster’s hip. Burning with all the love and pride inside him. “Shh,” he tells him softly.

And Booster lies there, his head angled up, eyes closed, lips gently parted with deep, uneven breaths. Still and limp and helpless and so unfathomably radiant. He swallows, opening an eye to squint at Ted. “Shit,” he whispers, or rather mouths, a weary smile on his lips. “Ah. God. Sorry.”

Ted moves up in bed, settling against Booster. Cupping his face in his hand and pressing the softest whisper of a kiss against those divine lips. Booster stirs and sighs, and when Ted moves to kiss him again, strong arms clasp around him, tight. Booster kisses him like he's been missing it for years, lips parting, hot tongue meeting Ted’s, unabashedly enjoying the taste of himself in Ted’s mouth.

Secret and silent and bursting with their own private happiness.

* * *

“Oh, thank God,” Bea groans as the Bug descends into the Embassy top floor workshop. The incessant ear-splitting pounding sound that’s accompanied them for the last 200 miles rises in pitch and speed as Ted maneuvers the aircraft to the floor. “Tell my why the hell I didn’t just fly here?”

“Because you’d be flying four hundred miles in a hail storm,” Tora reminds her flatly, gaze unfocused and tense. “Also because it’d be really rotten to leave your non-flying colleagues to suffer alone.”

“Hey, it still got us from point A to point B, didn’t it?” Booster murmurs, so low it's almost drowned out by the pounding noise. There’s not much energy in his voice.

“Like a flying torture chamber,” Bea replies.

“Look, it’s just a minor issue in the reduction gearbox,” Ted argues weakly, finally setting the Bug down. The deafening pounding slows, little by little. “I can fix it! I just can’t fix it in flight.”

“Ohh, shut up,” Guy hisses from his seat, massaging his temples. “Shut up before I tear this garbage tin bucket into pieces.”

“I suggest everyone appreciate that we’re home,” J’onn tells them, rising from his seat behind Ted. After a final, teeth-gritting scraping sound, metal against metal, the engine of the Bug grows silent. “And that everyone is safe and healthy except from some minor headaches.”

 _“Minor?”_ Bea snorts, waiting impatiently as the side door lifts up, and steps out into the dark workshop. “It feels like somebody’s been going at my brain with a hammer and chisel.”

“Do we get group discounts on aspirin?” Tora mutters, following close behind. “I think I need about a metric ton right now.”

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” Ted sighs, pressing the sequence of buttons needed to shut all the live processes down.

Guy stands for a moment, still massaging his temple. “You fix it or I’ll fix you, bugboy.”

“Oh right, because I wasn't intending to until the Green Lunk told me to!" Ted snaps back, not deigning to look at him. His own headache makes it feel like his skull is squeezing his brain. _"That’s_ the only reason I’d want to maintain my inventions. Nothing to do with professional _pride,_ or —”

“Let’s leave Beetle so he can do what needs doing,” J’onn tells them both, a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

Booster rises, looking at J’onn. “No, come on, J'onn! It’s been a long day.” He gestures back at Ted. “Beetle is just as entitled to a shower and a break like the rest of us.”

“Booster, it’s fine,” Ted grunts back at him, trying to ignore the sharp needleprick pain in his own temple. “I wanna do it. You know I wanna get something like this done right away.”

“You’re the one who’s been flying us all this way."

"Yeah, and what a _great_ fucking job he did of it," Guy mutters as he steps down to the floor, heading towards the hall with long strides.

Booster continues unperturbed, frowning at Ted. "You haven’t had a break in hours, you haven’t eaten —”

“I'm saying it’s fine!” Ted exclaims softly, stopping himself from glancing towards J’onn, the only other member remaining inside the Bug. He doesn't like how Booster must seem overly concerned with his welfare. Would he have been so quick to defend Ted back when they were just friends? Well. Maybe. It’s so hard to tell anymore, especially with this slowly budding headache like thumbtacks being stuck into his temple. "It's fine. This is the kind of thing I do in my spare time too, you know."

Booster sighs at him, frustrated.

“It’s just something loose in the reduction gears,” Ted tells him, a little softer. “I just need to open her up and tighten a few screws, it’s not a big job.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” Ted holds Booster’s gaze for several seconds, trying to disguise the fact that he’s only about 70% certain that’s what it is. Trying to disguise that if it should be something else, something more complex, he's prepared to keep going at it until he's fixed whatever it is, all night if needs be. All week. The Bug is his creation, his responsibility. The League depends on it, most days anyway. It’s downright embarrassing to have it break down on a mission. 

Booster glances towards the wide, imposing back of J’onn stepping out of the Bug, then his expression softens and he asks in a lower voice: “You want company? Should I get you something from the kitchen?”

Ted exhales and opens the latch on his cowl, pulling it off. “No, that’s alright. Thank you.” Still Booster holds his gaze with those bright blue eyes, and Ted flashes him a tired smile. He's been too distracted lately to do the regular maintenance, his duties. Maybe just for tonight he'll avoid the distractions, or the main, handsome cause of them, anyhow. Then he can go indulge and be twice as distracted but without the work-related guilt.

Quickly Booster casts a glance to make sure the two of them are alone in the Bug, and he winds his fingers through Ted’s hair, curling his hand around the back of his head. He smiles at him, that bright, sunny, blessing of a smile, and whispers, “Just drop by my room later when you’re done, okay?”

Ted nods, still trying to hide his fear that it'll be a bigger repair job than he anticipates. But then again, it might be a quick fix, and then he’ll slip into Booster’s room for another lovely evening and night, before he has to slip back into his own room for a few hours of sleep. It's so much easier to pull off these days, when they're on the same team, when they're living across the hall from each other. 

Those long, gloved fingers slip down to the back of Ted's neck, the tip of Booster's thumb trailing his jawline, and even that two-second gesture makes Ted think of the other times he has felt Booster's hands against his skin, possessive and eager and full of affection. It makes him feel several degrees warmer in a flash. Booster bites his lip and winks at him, then walks out, down the two steps to the workshop floor. The soft sound of his footsteps move towards the door and then, presumably, into the corridor, down the stairs, and into his own room. Maybe to shower.

Okay.

Ted steps out and regards the smooth hull of the Bug, thinly covered in ice and water from the storm, but his mind is filling with images of hot water flowing down Booster's body in that shower; Slick, pale soap suds carried by the water down naked, tan skin, and — oh, soaking through clothes.

The way they've been acting with each other these last weeks, these last months, makes Ted think there won't be a single activity or place that Ted won't at some point associate with Booster's naked skin and body. Isn't that great?

Right. The Bug. Poor Bug. On his way to the side panel he trails a hand against the cold metal of the hull. "Have I been neglecting you, girl?" he tells her softly. "I'm sorry, I'll fix it, I'll fix everything." 

She's still his pride and joy. His masterpiece, not just encompassing one of his ideas, but many. Every detail fretted over, stress tested, redesigned and upgraded and put together by his hands. So she's gotten a bit dinged up through the years. Who hasn't? She sometimes makes noises she shouldn't. He can sympathize with that, too. But she still flies, she still moves through the skies so effortlessly, no matter how many people has to cram inside her, no matter what storms or battles he puts her through.

He pulls off his gloves and tosses them towards the work bench, considering for a moment whether he should change out of his costume and into his workshop clothes, but chances are this isn’t going to get messy at all. A little grease, at most, once he gets into the gearbox proper. He wheels the smaller of his two tool trolleys to the side of the Bug, unscrews the bolts to the side panel with his wrench while he sings to himself under his breath, _“Your kisses lift me higher, like a sweet song of a choir, and you light my morning sky…”_

Bolts undone, he carefully sets the metal panel upright against the side of the Bug, peeking inside at the revealed inner workings of the engine. The reduction gearbox is down and to the left of him, and there’s a latch to open the top cover.

Please be a simple fix, please be a simple fix…

Ah, yes. He can immediately tell a detent strut has been knocked loose, and the synchronizer ring has slipped to the side, warped by the force of the shaft. Metal knocking against the gear with every rotation, that explains the unceasing clanging sound. Apart from the bent synchronizer ring, the rest looks in good shape, lucky that it didn’t knock loose any of the other —

“Not too difficult to repair?”

Ted startles upright, knocking the back of his head against the upper edge of the engine compartment, that too-close voice setting every one of his senses in alert mode. He grimaces, rubbing his aching head with one hand, and carefully extracts himself from his cramped workspace inside. “J’onn!” he exclaims softly. “I thought you’d gone downstairs with the others.”

His tall, green-skinned colleague looks at him with what can only be described as a guilty expression. “I hope I didn’t come across as trying to pressure you into working overtime against your will.”

“No, no,” Ted tells him, selecting a wrench from the trolley and ducking back into the engine compartment. “You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t be able to just walk away from an issue like this.” He snorts at himself. “Wouldn’t be able to sleep, thinking about it.”

“Well, good. That eases my mind somewhat,” J’onn replies in his deep, pleasant voice.

Ted starts working on disassembling the splined shaft, registering dimly that the tall, familiar shape behind him doesn’t seem to move. “You came back up here just to check on me about that?” Strange. What a minor issue to bother the Martian Manhunter. “Hey, you’re the one who intervened before the rest of the League got into a keelhauling mood at me, so —” No, keelhauling? Isn’t that the thing you do in boats? What’s the thing he’s thinking of? He shrugs at himself. “I’m grateful.”

“Actually, mostly —” There’s unfamiliar hesitation in J’onn’s voice. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Ted makes a little grimace inside the compartment, satisfied that J'onn can't see. _‘I want to talk to you’_ — nothing good ever comes out of that announcement. But he was half expecting this, he knows some of the others have already been through it. J'onn making some final arrangements.

“Mm,” Ted concedes awkwardly. “So when are you leaving?”

“I’m here one more week.”

Having loosened the three bolts on the end of the splined shaft with his wrench, Ted starts unscrewing them with his fingers. “And you’re not coming back.” At the corner of his eye, he can see the shape behind him stir.

“That’s impossible to say at this point. I don’t entirely know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Will you, uh, be staying on earth?” How many other people would he ask a question like that? How easily he accepted, years ago, that one of his colleagues was an actual space alien. Well, several of them were, back then. Like Scott, but he left too. Every year, the League becoming smaller, lesser than it were.

“I don’t quite know that, either,” J’onn tells him gently, in that even, rational voice. “I have no immediate plans to head into space, but I don’t have many concrete plans at all at this point.”

Ted sighs, considering how to take in this information, how to react. And he decides he might as well speak his mind. He steps back again, back into the dim workshop, and looks up at those red, alien eyes. “So why are you leaving, then? Why are you in such a rush to do nothing in particular?”

That heavy, distinct brow lowers into a frown. “I don’t plan to do nothing, Beetle. But I know I need… Time. To think. To consider what I’m supposed to be and do.”

“Yeah, that’s the _in_ thing, isn’t it?” Ted snorts, toying with the wrench in his hand. _“Finding yourself._ I hear staying at yoga resorts in India is popular. You can get a tattoo of a Chinese character meaning ‘strength’ and you’re good to go.”

J’onn exhales softly through his nose, sounding so tired, and that’s enough for Ted to feel a sting of guilt. Of shame for acting this way.

“Sorry. I’m just —” Ted begins, making a face down at the wrench in his hands. “Like I don’t even know how the League’ll work without you in it. I mean, you've been here since day one.” He gestures weakly at the room. “Hell, you’ve been part of them all. Establishing member.”

“I think that’s part of the issue,” J’onn tells him gently, looking down at him with kind eyes, and isn’t that weird, that Ted has learned to discern the various moods and emotions in those strange, pupil-less eyes? “I’ve been part of one Justice League or another for so many years now. Before I even knew fully who I was, where I came from.”

Ted looks up, regarding him. This hulking, unearthly creature with forest green skin. What, like he suspected he hailed from Utah or something? But he nods. “Yeah, I know it’s not fair that you’re expected to stick around forever. I mean we’ve gone through our share of members already, and I bet Max has tried to guilt you into staying more than he did anyone else.”

J’onn nods, staring into the dimness of the workshop with unblinking eyes. “Maxwell understands too. Mostly.”

Sure. He’s had one of these one-on-one talks too.

Ted rubs the back of his head in thought for a moment, then he chuckles. “I just wonder how we’ll keep the peace without you. Like, imagine the stupid shit me and Booster’ll get up to without you to pull our ears.”

The martian smirks. “I was led to believe you were both rational adults.”

“Adults -- maybe legally. Rational?” Ted rubs his thumb against his chin, pretending to ponder the concept. “We wouldn’t be on this team if we were _rational.”_

J’onn chuckles too, a deep, warm sound that Ted always feels particular satisfaction in having caused. J’onn isn’t the kind to laugh out of turn, but when he does chortle it’s such a reassuring, pleasing sound. 

Ted is surprised at that ache inside himself. J'onn hasn't left them yet, but already it feels like there's a void starting to form around him, a void that'll become completely J'onn-less in another week, and Ted misses him already. Soon they'll be without his presence, his authority, his calm energy. His leadership. That’s what J’onn’s always been to him. Not a boss, but a leader. Someone to emulate, to strive to be half as good as.

He looks back up at that familiar alien face and he wants to say something. Because when you respect someone and you're saying farewell, you ought to say something.

“I want to tell you...” J’onn speaks slowly, looking into his eyes. “That you and Booster —”

“Yeah, I know,” Ted smirks, rolling his eyes for a moment. “We’ll look out for each other. We’ll try to think things through once in a while.”

J’onn shakes his head subtly. “No. I mean, you and Booster, I want you to consider the fact that you’re among friends here. People that you trust.”

Ted works very hard at keeping the same friendly smile on his face. “Of course we are,” he replies pleasantly.

Those ruby eyes relentlessly looking into his own. “And you'll know that trust grows when you share the truth with people. When you let friends see who you are.”

“Yep.” The word comes out like percussion, abrupt on an exhale, and suddenly Ted is very preoccupied ducking back into the engine compartment, unscrewing another bolt with his fingers. “Absolutely. Very true.”

“Beetle.” It sounds almost like scolding, like when he or Booster (or he _and_ Booster) have been acting unreasonably childish again. 

Ted doesn't stop unscrewing the bolt. God, what’ll he do when he runs out of bolts?

“Theodore.”

“Oh, J’onn,” he chokes out in a strange voice. _"Please_ don't call me Theodore.”

Behind him he hears a sigh. “It’s entirely your own choice, of course, when you want to tell people. I just wanted to share my perspective. Before I leave.”

“You kinda lost me there, bud,” Ted tells him good-naturedly, trying to control his breathing.

“You and Booster —”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There’s a pause. “Beetle.” Softer now, not the scolding voice at all. “Please.”

Ted stands there frozen, mind churning, trying to think of some brilliant way to rerail this conversation, or end it. He could start the engine, chop off a few fingers in the moving parts. _That’s_ what he should do. A neat little distraction. It’s not like J’onn would continue this conversation in the ambulance. Right?

Instead he exhales, squeezing his eyes shut, and pulls his head out of the compartment. He looks at J’onn, offering a pained smile. “No fair when you can read minds.”

“I don’t do it with friends,” J’onn tells him softly. “But intense emotions and thoughts have a way of… Seeping through. Radiating.”

Ted massages his nose, sliding down with his back against the hull of the Bug until he can’t go any further, squatting on the concrete floor. “That’s what we’ve been doing?” he murmurs. “Radiating?”

“It’s a very pleasant feeling to catch whiffs of,” J’onn mutters with a faint smile. “Being in love.”

A pained, embarrassed noise forces its way out of Ted, and he hides his face in his hands. He feels a rush of… So many things. Fear and humiliation and panic, all the things he felt when it was Praxis. When it was the bastard policeman who knew too much about the things going on in their heads. With J’onn, there are all those feelings, less keen, different, but it makes his chest feel tight with remembered panic all the same. A different kind of embarrassment, a different kind of fear, and also… Something that feels almost like relief.

And there's shame. A big ice cold lump of shame in his stomach, because this still feels so different from telling --

“We’ve told some,” Ted murmurs, as if revealing that there are more people in on the secret will deflect some of that shame away from him. “Bea and Tora, they know.”

J’onn stands there, towering even taller now Ted’s almost seated on the floor. “Did telling them make things easier?”

Ted blinks at the unexpected question. “Yes. Some things.” They look out for each other, keep each other's secrets. He realizes suddenly that he was the one to tell both of them. Him, not Booster. Strange, when it’s always been Ted that’s so terrified of being found out, being exposed as a— “I don’t know if — If Booster would, uh, appreciate me confessing this to you, we haven't...” Ted finally dares to glance up at him. “Have you — Have you had this talk with him yet?”

“No.” J’onn thinks for a moment. “Do you think he would mind, you confirming what I knew to be true?”

Ted shakes his head, not looking at him. _No._ There are parts of this that have always seemed easier for Booster. Parts about who he is and who he can tolerate knowing.

The edges and corners of the workshop are so dark. Ted’s glad, now, that he didn’t bother putting on all the lights when he started working on the engine. There's comfort in this darkness. Just two men having a conversation, hidden away in the dimness and cool air of a workshop at night.

The silence stretches on.

Then J’onn, unexpectedly, absurdly, sits down on the floor next to Ted, gazing into the same empty darkness. “I keep trying to decide…” J’onn continues quietly. “What appearance I’m meant to have once I go back out there. When I don’t have my position in the League to hide behind any longer.”

Ted glances at him, disoriented from the change of subject. “Appearance?”

“I have options,” J’onn continues with a faint smile. Then, right in front of Ted’s eyes, the shapes and colors of him shift, warping gently, slowly, like rippling sand, until the man seated next to Ted is a — a man. With strawberry blond hair, an angular chiseled chin, pale skin and a tan, well-tailored suit. He’s considerably shorter than J’onn was a moment ago.

Ted blinks, reminding himself that he’s still with J’onn, that he still knows the person next to him. But his senses are all telling him he's sitting here with a complete stranger.

“This one’s the easiest, in some ways,” the stranger tells him in J’onn’s voice, and it helps that it's J'onn's voice. “And the hardest.” He pulls his fingers through the blond hair, and the hair moves like hair is meant to. None of it is fake, none of it is a trick. “Most people are more comfortable with Mr. Jones, it makes walking among them easier. But it’s the least true one. It’s… So tiring, acting this part every day.”

“So why even go out there? We don’t need you looking like that in the League.”

The man chews his lip in thought for a moment. “You forget that the way you see me every day, the way I choose to appear, that’s a compromise too. It’s only…” He pauses for a moment. “Half true. It’s closer to the truth, but still a disguise.”

“But I’ve seen you!” Ted tells him, gesturing at him with an oil-smudged hand. “We all have, the way you — You really look. Has any of us told you that that’s not okay? Has any of us said you have to, to disguise yourself for our benefit?”

The blond stranger frowns at the floor, something almost like pain, or shame, tingeing his expression. Then once again everything shifts, flows together, pale skin shifting to a much darker green, the frame growing narrower, narrower, the head elongating to a startling degree. Everything shifting until the form seated next to Ted is a tall and spindly creature, truly alien, its skin not so much skin as something shiny and hard like an insect’s carapace.

“Like that,” Ted tells him firmly, though in the back of his mind there is… A spark of uneasiness. His lizard brain sending signals to his nervous center, telling him he's meant to run far away. But he can ignore it, swallow the feeling down. Sure, this appearance feels unfamiliar -- but then so does the blond Mr. Jones.

This, too, is J’onn. More J’onn than he usually sees.

“I mean,” Ted begins, weakly. “If you want to stop… _Pretending,_ if that what you feel you’re doing, no one’s making you.” Ted hesitates for a moment. “Are they?”

The tall, unfamiliar head with all the sharp angles nods subtly. His expressions are so much harder to read in this form. “No one here’s told me directly, no.” Still J’onn’s voice. Still J’onn. “But I can tell. I can tell that this form… _Unnerves_ all of you. It pains me to make my friends uncomfortable.”

“Oh, _very_ polite!” Ted snorts. “How considerate of you. Shit, that’s _their_ problem!” He gestures at the world at large, then adds softly, acknowledging that lizard brain sting in his mind: _“Our_ problem. I mean it’s… Unfamiliar, sure.” He glances back at J’onn, the traces of light bouncing off that carapace skin. “But it's like -- people in the hero biz, we deal with unfamiliar stuff every god-dammed day, right? Gods, and demons, and mind control, and ancient evils and…” Fuck, the crazy stuff he’s been involved with since joining outfit. A long way from handling street thugs in Chicago. “We adapt!” he concludes into the room.

J'onn presses his lips together in thought, not looking at him.

“And, J'onn, we’re -- we're the good guys, we’re decent! Like we’d expel one of the best among us just because he doesn’t fit into whatever narrow image we’ve constructed of ourselv—”

_Oh. God fucking dammit._

Ted deflates, hiding his face in his hands with a groan. “Got me with the teachable moment, huh?”

“An Earth colloquialism I’m not familiar with,” J’onn replies softly.

“Bullshit,” Ted mutters with a grimace. “Well, very poignant, J’onn. Sure showed me.”

“None of what I told you about myself and my… complexes… are untrue,” J’onn explains slowly, absentmindedly tapping long, pointed fingers against the floor. “And I’m touched by your arguments. Genuinely. I thought maybe you would appreciate the parallels.”

“Well, it’s not the same,” Ted mutters, letting his hands drop to his sides. “We’re already aware of your secret. You’ve already done the big reveal.”

“A glimpse for a select few.” J’onn rests his gaze on the floor a few feet ahead of them. “And even that haunts me sometimes.”

“See?” Ted interjects in a strained voice. “All that worrying, and it doesn’t sound like it changed much on your end.”

“Oh, but it did. It was frightening, but also... intensely relieving. It made me realize that —” J’onn exhales, speaking slowly: “There are other people more ready to accept me than I am myself, and that was what you call…” Even in that stiff alien face, there’s something that can only be read as a smirk. “An eye opener.”

“But there are gonna be people who don’t accept it,” Ted argues quietly, hugging his knees. “I mean… For you. For me. There’ll be consequences of that.”

“You’re the one who told me _‘that’s their problem’.”_

Ted grimaces. “Yeah, but we both know it’s not that easy. Right? One false step, one wrong person, and everything might go up in flames.”

J’onn regards him for a good long while, red eyes almost glowing in the dark. “Do you ever worry about losing him?”

Ted’s shoulders tense. “Oh. Uh —” His voice wavers, his pulse rate spikes. Because talking in code, talking in comfortable, disguised metaphor is a whole lot easier than speaking directly about it. About him and Booster. He blinks at the darkness, thinking, then chokes out: "Yes." Barely above a whisper. “Constantly.” 

_I worry about losing him in any of the countless ways I could lose him._

On a mission, in injury and death. In the humiliating pain of Booster looking at him one day and realizing he doesn’t love him anymore, that he isn’t enough, not even a little bit. In some stupid, pointless fight, saying the wrong thing and losing both his love and his friendship from one syllable to the next. Or from outside forces, so disgusted with what they are to each other that they’re forced apart, somehow. Like what almost happened when Praxis…

No, but that was Ted. That was Ted veering all too close to panicking and pushing Booster away. He changed his mind within hours, but he still carries that shame. That the thing he was scared of Booster doing, he almost did himself. Because he was so completely terrified of the consequences of being found out.

“Is it worth it?” J’onn asks.

Ted swallows, unprepared. “Is what worth it?”

“What you and Booster have. Do you think it's worth all the worries?”

Ted opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t know how to answer. He wants to make a joke, something about how he’s been a worrier since infancy, that it’s dangerous asking him to reflect on whether he tolerates being worried or not -- who knows what that might lead to. But he stops himself. J’onn is not the kind of person who gets distracted by jokes, if it could be called that at all.

From what he knows about the risks, he feels — he _knows_ it’s worth it. But that’s from his own limited perspective. Maybe things could get so much worse than he might even imagine. If he knew, truly, how bad things could get, maybe it wouldn’t be worth it. Maybe it wouldn’t be tolerable like he believes it is right now.

He worries so much it could power a small city. But he's also so much happier than... Than he can remember ever being.

He thinks about this past week. Lying in bed, face to face, just gazing into a wonderful, flushed face looking back at him. Booster smiling so warmly, so incandescently happy at him, looking like he might burst at any moment, just like Ted feels _he’ll_ burst from feeling more happiness than any mortal body can hold. Lying in bed, standing in the shower, creating their own little feedback loop of love and joy and tenderness, goofy smiles and murmurs of adoration that can’t convey how completely amazing all of it feels. How it makes him so happy he could cry, being alive to experience it.

“Yes,” Ted tells J’onn, his voice no longer wavering. “It’s worth it.”

J’onn stirs subtly, something lighting up in his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is that -- I believe even the best choices carry the potential for disaster. You reached a point where you had to be honest with him, too, once upon a time. I’m sure it was frightening."

Ted snorts quietly. "It was fucking terrifying."

"It opened you up for those new worries and risks. But it was worth it, by your own admission." J'onn frowns and nods. "I'm starting to believe... Honesty might be a prerequisite for true happiness."

“But that’s — that’s different, too,” Ted argues weakly, tiredness starting to creep up his limbs, because talking candidly about this stuff is more exhausting than it ought to be. “Because he — he felt the same. We were, I guess, equally… Vulnerable.” He glances at the floor, imagining their rooms on a floor below, their secret little oasis. “It worked out because we were going through the same things.”

“But did you truly know that when you told him?”

Ted shakes his head. He feels a surge of annoyance at how easily it all lines up. How even in his doubt and panic can see the sense in J’onn’s gentle arguments and parallels.

Because you don’t know. You never truly know anything about what goes on inside people, all you can build your expectations and projections on is your own dumb inexperience. Your own prejudices and fears and circular logic. _What if,_ right? What if everything could work out, but people never learn that because they're too damn scared?

What if people aren’t half as full of disdain for him as he is for himself?

But then, what’s the alternative for him and Booster? How open can they be, what’s realistic here?

Sure, Bea knows. And Tora, and now J’onn. In the League, that leaves… Max, and Guy, L-ron and Kilowog and other people who breeze in now and then. God knows what they'd risk telling them. Then you’ve got the Europe division, some he knows very well, some he's barely spoken to. They both have other friends and acquaintances in the hero business... Any one of them could react badly. Sure, he might become pleasantly surprised at some of them, but equally likely, some people might be skeptical and disgusted, or outright hostile.

He thinks about Scott, one of his closest friends, who he talks to regularly, sees semi-regularly, who still invites him and Booster up for movie nights with Barda. How will he react to a reveal like that? What's the Apokolips view on, well, men... together? And even if that turns out okay, how will Scott react to a close friend who’s been actively lying to him for all this time? Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Everyone would be a risk. Any one could lead to those unknowable, horrific consequences, and not even directly, not even out of malice. If Ted tells someone who tells someone who tells someone… His most intimate secret spilling out in every direction, splitting into more paths, more risks, more people, every time it's spoken aloud. Becoming more dangerous every time it's uttered.

No. This is the kind of thing that can only be protected if it doesn’t make it out at all.

“I see your point,” Ted murmurs. “I get it. But…” He sighs. “I don’t see how it… It could work out. At all.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed. “I don’t see that… That picture perfect future, you know? Where everyone knows, and everyone’s okay with it. Okay with me.”

This little measure of happiness he and Booster have been able to dig out together. It’s too… Too important. Too rare to risk, chasing some fairytale ending that can’t ever exist in a world like this. Keeping this secret, it’s their only way to protect it. Protect themselves.

“It’s entirely your choice, of course. Yours and Booster’s.” J’onn tells him, those harsh angles starting to shift again, that carapace moving, flexing into softer green skin.

“J’onn, you don’t need to —” Ted objects softly, reaching out a hand. “It’s fine. You can look how you look.”

“At the risk of sounding trite, parallel-wise,” J’onn smirks, now back to his regular, muscular appearance, his alien-but-still-humanoid appearance. “There’s comfort in the familiar, too. I’m so much more used to facing the world like this.”

Ted nods at the floor, suddenly noticing his legs are starting to cramp, squatting down like this. “Look, I appreciate the discussion, and the… The honesty.” He glances up at J’onn’s familiar face, and he's aware that it wasn’t all just to teach him a lesson. There’s quiet weariness on that face, a weariness Ted recognizes — from being exposed, from choosing to be vulnerable.

He had no idea J’onn felt those things about himself, his appearance. Pretending and hiding in plain sight. He feels touched and a little surprised that he was allowed to see it, for more than a glimpse. “I’m, uh, glad you know. J'onn. I’m glad you… That you’re sympathetic. You’re —” He makes a face when he realizes what he was about to say, ponders it, then goes for it anyway with an odd smile: “You’re a real _mensch.”_

That soft, pleasant rumbling of a chuckle again. “Am I?”

“No disrespect intended," Ted titters, then clears his throat. "And, uh, I’ll miss you." There’s an ache in his chest, hurting a little more as he admits it. “I don’t know how the League’ll get anything done with you gone, but we — we’ll figure it out.” He inhales, wiping his forehead, remembering, as always, a little too late that he's got engine grease on his fingers. “I don’t blame you, you know. After three Justice Leagues, I figure you’re due for a break.”

“It’s not easy to leave, though I've been pondering it for a long time now.” J’onn’s gaze sweeps over the empty workshop. “I’d have left sooner if I... If I hadn't enjoyed this so much. Working with the team. Working with you.”

“Shit, me you could replace with the joke page from Reader’s Digest,” Ted fires back without thinking. It's easier to make dumb jokes.

“It’s not just your sense of humor.” J’onn turns, and he regards Ted with those ruby red eyes. “I've really come to appreciate... Your intelligence. Your determination and sense of justice. Your ability to adapt. I know the League was your first team, Beetle. Your first experience with... _Collaboration_. I could sense that doubt in you, on your first day. I’ve seen you grow so much since then.”

Ted sets his jaw, trying to keep his composure. “Yeah, fudge cookies will do that a man,” he chokes out, indicating his stomach with a hand.

J’onn's broad hand squeezes Ted’s shoulder, J'onn's head tilting down to meet his gaze with ruby red eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

It comes out more like a squeak: _“Oh.”_ Ted looks back at him, startled, overwhelmed, trying to make sense of the absurd fact that his eyes are starting to well up. 

God, it’s just another colleague leaving. He didn’t start bawling when Batman left, did he? People quit and change jobs all the time, and everyone handles it like adults. _Don't embarrass yourself, Ted. Get a grip._

But something inside him got knocked over by those words, something that’s supposed to be contained is freely spilling out everywhere inside him, and he doesn’t know what that means. He just knows those words are bouncing around inside his head like a pinball.

_J’onn’s proud of me._

He grimaces, still trying not to cry. The only other time he can recall hearing those words was a lifetime ago. Dan telling him the same thing, that horrible day. Another goodbye, another ending. And nothing he’s done in the intervening years made him think another person would say those words to him again.

“Thank you,” he whispers back, barely audible in a broken voice.

J’onn looks at him kindly for a moment, then gives his shoulder another squeeze before getting back to his feet. “I’m not leaving for another week. If you want to talk more.”

“Uh. Yes. Okay,” Ted murmurs, mind and heart still too busy processing.

“I want you to know I'd never force you into any kind of decision,” J’onn continues softly. “Your choices are your own, as are mine. I respect them. And you’re a rational person.”

“Still not so sure,” Ted murmurs, trying to smile.

“And after a week I’ll leave, looking for whatever it is that I need.” J’onn stands up tall, taller than anyone Ted knows, and exhales through his nose. Then he smiles down at Ted, still on the floor. “But at least I’ll be out there knowing that a good friend considers me a _mensch.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I know I teased a two-parter and this isn't it, sorry! Honestly, November was ROUGH in so many ways so I comforted myself by writing some fluffy smut with some chewy Metaphors and Themes towards the end there. You'll still get your big two-parter -- in the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this random detour!
> 
>  **[Songs:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Burning love - Elvis Presley  
> Moments in love - Art of Noise


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